That’s what I’d been. And what I’m ashamed of, more than anything, is that deep down, I hadn’t hated it.
A part of me had loved it.
A part of me wants to go back.
I’d been startled by the knock at the door, but I’d thought it might be Liam. I’d been even more shocked to see the hotel concierge there with a handful of shopping bags, telling me that they’d been purchased courtesy of Mr. Liam McGregor for a Ms. Anastasia Ivanova, and was I her?
I’d accepted the bags numbly, half thinking I should deny them but not wanting to offend Liam after he’d gone to such lengths and set them on the bed, looking through the contents.
They’d been full of clothes in a variety of sizes. Clearly, Liam had told whoever he’d sent out shopping for me to look for clothes for a petite woman, but he hadn’t known my exact size. The simple sweetness of it, the caring, had made my heart clench in my chest as I’d pulled out a few dresses, pairs of jeans, tops to match. He’d known that I wouldn’t want to put the lavender dress back on, and he’d thought to send me clothes. Even underwear, though only one of the bras selected is my size.
When I’d pulled out the silk and lace nightie, something else deeper in my belly tightened, a tingling of desire spreading out over my skin. I didn’t know if Liam had requested something like this be picked out or if the personal shopper had just assumed that’s what he would want—I suspected the latter—but the thought of Liam seeing me in something like that made my cheeks flush.
There was more sleepwear in another bag—a silky camisole and shorts set and a pair of soft pajama pants with another cotton camisole, but for some reason, I was drawn back to the pink silk nightie laying on the sheets where I’d set it aside.
I wasn’t sure why, exactly—there was no reason to think he’d see me in it—but I’d put it on. I’d shivered as the silk had slipped over my skin, the feeling reminiscent of the other dress Alexandre had bought me and walked over to the mirror hanging over the dresser, looking at my reflection.
I’d gained a bit of weight since arriving at Alexandre’s—he’d certainly fed me enough—but I still had my ballerina’s frame, slender and petite, my breasts a faint swell beneath the silk and my hips slim, leading into narrow legs. I knew that Alexandre had liked my body as it was—he liked me frail, liked me looking like a porcelain doll that might break if dropped, something that needed to be protected.
Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I’d wondered what Liam thought of my body, if he thought I was beautiful as I was or too thin, if he wished my breasts were bigger, my curves more generous. He’d been aroused by me, there was no doubt about that—but was I what he wanted?
Did I care?
And why did he want to take me home so badly? Why did he feel the need to protect me so deeply, instead of just shipping me back to New York for others to look after?
Those questions still lingered with me on the flight back. I’d felt Liam’s eyes on me when he’d come to get me that morning, saw his gaze sweep over the skinny jeans and black chiffon button-down I was wearing that he’d sent me, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, the jewelry Alexandre had given me tucked away with the rest of the clothing. The only thing left of Alexandre were the custom flats on my feet that he’d made so that I could walk.
“Do you need help?” Liam had asked as I’d gotten up from where I’d been sitting, my bags already removed by the valet, and I’d shaken my head.
“Alexandre had these shoes made for me,” I’d told him, pointing to the flats. “So that I could walk without it hurting so much.”
I wasn’t sure exactly why I’d told him—if I’d wanted to hurt him a little, see the sting of pain on his face when I mentioned Alexandre doing me a kindness, or if I’d just wanted to see what his reaction would be. He’d tried to mask the way he’d flinched back a little at the mention of Alexandre’s name, and I’d pretended not to see.
Now he’s sitting across from me, looking out the window silently, Levin and Max on the other side of the aisle. The atmosphere is tense and quiet, and I can’t help fidgeting a little as I lean back in the seat, my anxiety steadily building.
Maybe this was a bad idea.I’m going to a city I’ve never been to with a man I hardly know, and even if my friends know where I am, there’s very little they could do if something went wrong.
But Liam came halfway across the world to find me—what possible reason could he have for hurting me?
Alexandre also paid a hundred million dollars for you, and he made you eat off the floor like a dog. He forced another man to fuck you at gunpoint. Who’s to say what Liam might do?
I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. I’m so tired of being afraid. So tired of wondering what will happen to me next, who will hurt me next, what new terror or torture is around the corner. I want it to stop, whatever that takes. I want the pain and fear to end.
I feel a touch on my knee, and my eyes snap open to see Liam leaning forward, concern on his face as he lays his hand on my knee, his fingers rubbing gently against the denim of my jeans.
“I don’t want you to be afraid, Ana,” he says gently. “No one will hurt you in Boston, least of all me. If at any point you want to leave and go back to Manhattan, all you have to do is say so. All I want is to give you a place to heal and decide what’s next for you.” He takes a deep breath, his hand going still for a moment before he pulls it back, sitting back in his seat. “I don’t know all of what you’ve been through,” Liam says slowly. “And you can tell me in your own time, Ana. But all I want is to protect you, now that you’re free of him.”
I look at him, at his handsome face, his coppery hair brushed to one side in a thick swoop that begs to have fingers run through it, the short beard that he’s grown since I last saw him in Russia, when his chin was covered in ginger stubble. I look at his earnest, sincere green eyes, and I wonder if this is a man I can trust.
I’ve never known any man to be this sincere, especially not one who is part of one the crime families, least of all a man who leads one of them. Liam wants me to trust him, but he’s an Irish King—theIrish King. Can I, really?
What if I do, and it’s a mistake?
Wasn’t trusting Alexandre a mistake?
“Am I free of him?” I ask quietly. “Do you really think I ever can be?”
Liam is quiet for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his own knees as he holds my gaze. “Is that a rhetorical question?” he asks finally. “Or do you want an answer?”